


Lie Detector

by katawa_shoujos_bitch



Category: Persona 5, Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: AU, Angst, Chaos Crossover, M/M, Makoto and Futaba and Sae and Ryuji are somewhat present but arent the focus, Ren Amamiya as a codename, im spelling out five because my number key is broken, it's just Spies Are Forever with persona five characters, my least valid shuake fic yet, no happy ending, persona protagonist as akira
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23117842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katawa_shoujos_bitch/pseuds/katawa_shoujos_bitch
Summary: Goro Akechi was Ren Amamiya's partner in crime, once upon a time.They were partner spies, successful on every mission, taking down every villain.Until Goro's death four years ago. Codename Ren Amamiya died along with him, leaving Akira Kurusu and heartbroken. Today, he'll go back to his job, be a spy again.But if the evil guy's eyes look familiar...
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	Lie Detector

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Alright so  
> This isn't original. At all. this is the plot of spies are forever with shuake and co. as characters. Please watch spies are forever! it's all on youtube, its a very very very good musical! This fic here is written worse and please go to youtube for the full experience!
> 
> ty ly bb

Ren Amamiya was a fake name. An alias. 

A codename, one might say, if they wanted to be a bit edgy. It wouldn’t be inaccurate, though. 

Ren Amamiya died four years ago with Goro Akechi. He’d watched him die. He’d killed him. 

Akira Kurusu lived a wonderful life of apathy and wasting time. And misery. So much misery. It had been four years since he’d felt like a person, much less a happy one. 

Goro haunted his every breath. 

He didn’t want to live the same way forever. The abnormally long grieving period was unfortunate--but in his defense, he and Goro had been… well. He was pretty sure his boss had figured it out. If she hadn’t, there was no way she’d let the four years of absence slide. Her general idea of a grieving period was locking yourself in a room for ten minutes and screaming until your throat goes raw, then locking up any remaining emotion until retirement. 

That’s what she said _she_ did, at any rate.

But Akira still had a life to live. He’d devoted his life to being a spy--a life of adventure and intrigue, living in the shadows and risking his life every day.

It was thrilling. 

So he was eternally grateful when his request for a new mission was accepted. They were apparently quite desperate for manpower--it turns out most people weren’t exactly clamoring for the chance to risk their lives, and it was quite difficult to hire. 

They knew Kurusu. Trusted him, to some extent. 

Long story short, he got the job. 

And he could _not_ find the other undercover agent. He kept repeating the slightly-odd secret phrase, but all he was getting were stares and faces that looked just a little disgusted. 

Surely not the waiter. His bright blond hair was far too conspicuous and the uniform was not quite perfect and he kept hearing him swear under his breath. No way was the secret agent sent to meet him _this_ stupid. 

Still, he was getting desperate and no one seemed to recognize the signal. When the waiter walked over to him, a little slow for the completely empty bar, he muttered the phrase, half to himself. 

“Ohhh shit! It’s you! Alright, alright, here’s the little treat.” The waiter grinned a little too widely and dropped a menu in front of him with a little too loud of a clunk. 

Akira looked at him, dumbfounded, trying to comprehend just how stupid this guy could be. He opened the menu, and his answer came spilling out in the form of several dozen papers. _Top-secret_ papers, no less. 

“God--shit--what the hell, man? These are--” Akira lowered his voice to a hiss, “these are _top secret._ You’re gonna draw attention!” 

The guy shook his head and laughed aloud. “Nahhh, it’s like hiding in plain sight. No one’s gonna see anything cuz they don’t know what they’re looking for.” He glanced around to the exactly two other people in the room--a man standing behind the bar, cleaning glasses and looking apathetic, and a woman at a table across the room with her head in her hands. “Besides, uh, I don’t really think anyone in here is gonna care about us.”

“Fine, fine. Anyway, what’s all this?” 

“Informational files. For your mission. Nijima sent them. Oh, also! Secret note in the salt shaker.” 

Akira frowned, grabbed the shaker, and screwed the top off in one motion. Sure enough, one piece of paper was folded inside. He pulled it out and unfolded it slowly to reveal the note. 

_“Don’t screw up :)”_

Akira sighed. It wasn’t exactly out of character. What had he expected, for her to change? She’d treated him the same as ever over the phone. This just confirmed what he already knew. Sae was Sae, distorted by her work and all that time she’d spent in her office, knowing those close to her were out risking their lives. 

She wasn’t cruel, just… hardened. Akira used to think she was cruel, but he could see her concern when he was injured, noticed how her eyes softened at that moment when he was _sure_ she’d realized the situation with Goro. 

Before that day, Sae had been reluctant to let them work together on missions. Though they worked well together, it was due to complementary personalities--they were very different. Not to _mention_ the small detail that they didn’t even work for the same organization. Not that the two had opposite goals, it wasn’t exactly a Romeo and Juliet situation, but it did mean they weren’t technically allowed to be partners. 

They _were_ partners. 

They used to be. 

Akira remembered the day with startling clarity--it was several long years ago, but the sharp strike of fear in his chest wasn’t something he could forget easily. For someone like him--who was rarely frightened in his life-threatening job--that split-second realization that _Sae had figured it out_ had made his blood run cold.

He’d been sitting next to Goro, leaning on him a little. That was normal--nothing out of the ordinary for Akira and any one of his friends. Sae had been there too, looking through some papers, while Akira and Goro waited for her to address them. Akira couldn’t remember for the life of him what she’d said, but he did remember looking up at Goro, catching his eye. The way he smiled, the way his hand traced Akira’s jaw, moving dangerously close to his lips. 

And then how they’d heard a heavy file slam against the table where Sae had dropped it. And they both shot back to their original positions, sitting upright, several inches between them. Because they’d kind of forgotten Sae was there for a moment. And she was just looking at them, eyes a little wider than usual. 

“Oh. Alright then,” was what she’d said. “Anyway…” And then she’d gone on with whatever it was she’d been planning to say in the first place. 

After that, she’d never complained about them being partners on a mission. Kept her distance. 

And she’d barely uttered a word when, after Goro’s death, Akira had mysteriously and suddenly become a recluse, locked away for almost four years straight. Empty inside and out. 

Akira really was grateful to Sae. She really was so kind--even if she didn’t usually show it. 

“I’m Ryuji, by the way.” 

Akira looked up with a start. He’d zoned out, apparently, and his fellow agent had taken his seat across the table from him when he hadn’t been paying attention. Though, the name sounded familiar… “Sakamoto?” 

“Yeah,” he grinned. 

“As in, the first choice--Sae’s favorite?” 

Ryuji snorted. “Dude, you’re the favorite.” 

“No.” Akira shook his head. “I’m not the least favorite, but I’m not her favorite either.” 

“You call her Sae, man. If I dropped the ‘san’ from Nijima she’d knock me out.”

Akira considered that. He _did_ often call Sae by her given name, and he couldn’t recall her ever taking much offense. Well--he’d gotten a raised eyebrow the first time, but that was fair enough. He had been looking for a reaction, and Sae was usually more than willing to supply--but her reactions were all small, raised eyebrows or a quirked mouth. 

Maybe that was because she liked him?

“Huh. Anyway, when does she want me to meet with her?” 

Ryuji looked to the ceiling. “Uhhhh, I don’t… oh! Yeah, I remember. Get there tomorrow morning, like… nine or so?” 

“Nine?” It was awfully late in the morning for her. She must be busy. 

He got a nod in response, and Akira turned his attention to the extremely conspicuous documents, doing his best to not look suspicious. Then again, the drunken woman and the man behind the bar didn’t exactly look fit to spy on him. 

Heh. 

Looked like a standard mission. Stop an arms deal. Shoot to disarm, not to kill. Return the bomb to Sae Nijima. 

Easy as pie. 

~~~

It was not, as it turned out, easy as pie. 

Akira was up a short staircase, hiding behind a pillar, waiting for the right moment to strike. The arms deal looked pretty standard, but the delivery guy felt the need to give a pretty long speech before handing off the merchandise. Akira knew from experience that the best moment to jump in was right as the bomb switched hands. It caught them off guard. 

As the monologue seemed to draw to a close, Akira prepared to jump out. Before he could, though, he watched a woman he didn’t recognize appear from the other side of the room. He panicked and followed, weapon out.

“Drop the bomb!” The woman shouted. Her voice had a definite twinge of Russian in it, and Akira stiffened. She was an enemy if she was a spy. If she was breaking this up, she was most definitely a spy. 

“That-That goes for me too!” God, sound stupider, Kurusu. Still, he took confident strides forward, but found that his steps were in time with the woman’s, and they reached the bomb case at the same moment. She glared into his eyes, sharp red piercing him. He stood his ground. 

The delivery guy dropped it first. “Woah, woah, man! This is just a day job for me, man, I--” 

Akira raised a hand to shut him up. It worked. 

The person buying the bomb didn’t let go. It was only at that moment Akira turned to get a good look at him, close up. He was tall, taller than Akira, though not by much. He was adorned with weaponry, and his face and hair were cut sharp. 

None of that interested Akira. He’d worked with people far scarier-looking. Hell, he’d _killed_ people far scarier-looking. 

Akira was looking at his eyes. Deep, dark, ruby red. Focused, piercing Akira with their intensity. 

Familiar. They looked so familiar. 

For the briefest moment, he faltered, and he could feel his uneven heartbeat in his chest. But in that fleeting moment, the man let go, and the Russian woman was able to snatch away the case and flee. 

Not before Akira had picked a card out of her back pocket, though. It had her name on it. How clumsy of her, leaving such damning information in a place so easy to reach. 

Akira grinned a little, somewhat pleased with his quick thinking. He’d lost the bomb--Sae would have his head. But maybe he could placate her a little with this. 

When Akira turned back around, the man was gone.

He sighed, and looked down at the card. _Makoto_ was her first name, her last name… well, nothing that Akira knew how to pronounce, that was for sure. But he was right--definitely Russian. 

Makoto.

~~~

“You let a _Russian spy_ get away with the bomb!?” 

As he’d expected, Sae was furious. 

“You--Akira--Kurusu, you _absolute--!_ ” She sighed, deflating back into her chair, groaning into her hands. 

“Before you completely lose it, I did manage to get this.” Akira handed her the card. She studied it. “I think I can locate her.” 

Sae set the card down. “You’re right. Good thinking.” She paused, glaring at him. “And you can get that grin off your face, because you still lost a powerful _bomb_ to a Russian spy.”

Akira bit his lip. 

“Welcome back, you let Russia get our bomb.” She shook her head. “I suppose it’s understandable you’re out of practice after all this time. Four years is quite some time.” 

She pulled out a flask from under her desk (four years ago, Akira might have judged the sheer casual attitude she had towards drink, but now?), poured out a small cup, and offered it to Akira. He took it gratefully. 

“What were you doing, anyway?” 

Akira swallowed half his drink in one go, ignoring the burning. “Grieving.” 

“I know that, don’t be stupid. I mean.” She made a vague gesture and leaned back in her chair. “Were you just in your house, or…?” 

Akira grimaced. The whole point of going back to work was kind of to forget about the past four years. 

Well, really, to forget about the last seven years. He wanted to erase his memory back to the moment he met Goro--even now, he could barely stand to be in Sae’s office, remembering all the times they’d sat in there together. Akira’s head on his shoulder, or Goro cupping his face, or tracing his jaw or his lips, or just sitting and laughing together, waiting for Sae to return to give them the mission briefing. Goro’s laugh was so cute. 

It used to be. 

Akira blinked hard, trying to form some sort of coherent sentence. 

“Basically, yeah. Went out occasionally, mostly to get food or buy things. I stayed home when I could.” It was true. Save for basic survival, Akira had pretty much been a shut-in. For four years. “I’d rather not talk about it. If you don’t mind.”

Sae frowned. “Well, anyway, you can head over to science to get your equipment. You’ll need some if you’re gonna catch the femme fatale. Futaba’s looking forward to seeing you.”

That made Akira smile. It had been forever since he’d seen Futaba. She ran the science department; she made him all the funky gadgets customary of any spy. Bless her. He’d honestly missed her--she was like a sister to him. 

So that’s exactly where he headed--down to the science center, where he was enthusiastically greeted by not only Futaba, but her entire team, with shouts and, shortly after, offerings of new inventions from the last four years. 

It did give him a spark of hope. He smiled at her.

~~~

The casino he was to find Makoto in was not quite luxurious. The customers were shady, the house never lost, and by far the loveliest thing in the room was not the glimmering costume gold on the tables, intended apparently to entice the customers to play. 

No. The only thing in the room that stood out to Akira was the woman sitting at the tall stools, legs crossed elegantly despite barely reaching halfway to the ground. Her dark hair fell elegantly to her chin, with a loop of braids circling the back of her head. Her dress and shoes completed the look--both a deep shade of purple, the heels of the shoes several inches high. The dress was completely strapless, and cut off just above her knee. 

She was the very picture of elegance. Akira recognized Makoto instantly, despite the starkly different outfit. 

He made his way over immediately, taking his seat next to her and flashing his best seductive smirk. It was all to play up the idea that he was just there to take a woman home. Walking up the Makoto just seemed like he had good taste. 

For full disclosure, Akira had no interest in such motives. 

The very idea of seducing someone right then made him slightly nauseous. He hadn’t had a romantic encounter in four years, and intended for it to remain that way. The mere thought of romance right then sent flashes of _Goro_ through his head, which, in turn, made him stumble. 

Lucky thing that wasn’t what he was there for. Judging by the emptiness in Makoto’s eyes when she smiled back at him, she wasn’t there for that either.

“Might I purchase a drink for such a lovely lady?” 

Makoto gave him a look somewhere between false interest and straight-up disgust. Her voice remained level, though. “I would like that very much.” 

And so the evening went on without a hitch. Akira ordered drink after drink, always finishing his first. None of the drinks were similar to what he was used to--they were laced with cream. Watered down. Makoto drank hers slowly, and voiced the same complaint after a particularly weak bunch. 

She complained about an hour and a half into their false attraction. Akira agreeing with her marked the first moment of actual bonding of the evening. 

Makoto kicked ass at blackjack. Akira shouldn’t have been surprised--he barely knew the woman, and she certainly looked like she could pack a punch. But her risky strategies always paid off. Every time. Without fail. 

Finally, the energy of the room began to die down, and Makoto apparently deemed it the right time to leave. 

~~~

To any passerby, it would look like they’d just met, got drunk, gambled, and went off to sleep together. The hours spent together and the way Makoto whispered her invite to her hotel room suggested as much. 

That was good. That was what they wanted people to believe. Because it was dangerous if anyone caught wind of the truth, of what they were actually doing in that room… 

“I’m not a spy. Well,” Makoto twisted a piece of hair around her finger. “I don’t work for Russia. I cut ties with them long ago. I work alone.” 

Akira considered this. “I still need the bomb.” 

“Of course. I understand.” 

“Where is it?” Akira narrowed his eyes, suspicious that it would be this easy. He’d been expecting a fight--probably a physical one, probably one where they’d both draw their weapons. He’d half-expected for it to result in one of their deaths. 

Makoto gestured to a door across the room. “Over here.” She walked over in clean, long strides, but faltered with her hand on the doorknob. “I’m… I’m sorry.” 

“You… don’t have anything to apologize for…?” 

Makoto turned away from him. “Yes. I do.” 

In one motion, she turned the knob and opened the door. Immediately, three men ran through, right past Makoto, who stood staring at the ground off to the side. 

On instinct Akira reached for a gun, but before he could fire or even aim, one of the attackers managed to get too close to him, and--

~~~

~~~

~~~

…

…

Akira opened his eyes and blinked hard, three times, trying to clear the blurriness from the world. It mostly worked. 

He glanced around slowly, trying to gather his bearings. He was in the same room, Makoto’s room, but Makoto was nowhere to be found. Instead, two men occupied the space around Akira. One was small, wearing a very conspicuous uniform and monologuing about god-knows-what. The other… 

Akira stared at the other man. The same guy from the arms deal. The same deep red piercing him. 

“And I mean, _reallllly,_ we didn’t need to tie you up! We just needed you out of the picture, right!? We coulda just killed ya, but Deadliest Man over here wanted to have some time to toy with you. Ohh hoh, I couldn’t say no to that!” 

Akira looked down and, indeed, his hands were tied behind the chair he sat in, pinning him in place. Well, he could probably get out if he tried, the knot wasn’t especially tight and he could probably just loop his arms around the top of the chair, but either of those methods would require him to struggle. One look at the various knives adorning the--what was he just referred to?--the _Deadliest Man_ told him that would likely not go well. 

Still spouting nonsense, the small man walked his way into the other room, dialing something on the hotel’s phone. 

He was alone with the Deadliest Man, who gave him a glimmering, dark smile. 

“Now then, Amamiya… or should I say, Kurusu…” 

_Kurusu? How does he--_ “How do you know--” 

“I know lots of things.” He drew a long knife from his belt and studied it, excitement clear in his eyes. “I’m not sure worrying about that is the best use of your concern right now.” 

Akira swallowed, watching how the blade reflected the fluorescent lights as the man approached him slowly. Methodical, heavy footsteps. He reached out, pressing the flat of the blade against the bottom of Akira’s chin, lifting his head just a bit, forcing him to once again stare into the deep crimson eyes. 

“Oh, all my thanks to the baron for giving me this opportunity. I’ve waited so long for this.” He quickly pulled the blade away, leaving a shallow cut on Akira’s chin and allowing his head to drop. Akira winced. “Now then… before I kill you, I think I’ll torture the living shit out of you.” The smile on the man’s face never faltered, the darkness behind his eyes never letting up. 

Akira shut his eyes, but he could still hear the footsteps as the man circled around to behind him, crouched down, and whispered directly into his ear. 

“I’ll make you suffer until the moment of your death.” A soft laugh. Menacing. Akira heard a switch flip, and then an incessant buzzing. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, tighter, as though if he just focused hard enough it would stop. _Still, he had no option but to endure._ “I’m a master of this, you know. Of _torture._ ” The grin was audible in his voice. Hands tied behind him, Akira had no way to cover his ears. 

The first zap lasted only a moment, but was so powerful Akira cried out without thinking. Two instruments had been pressed momentarily between his shoulder blades, sharp currents and it made his entire body convulse. 

“Oh, don’t worry.” The man’s voice sounded amused. Akira wanted to punch him. “You’ll suffer,” 

Zap. 

“Suffer,” 

_Zap._

_“Suffer,”_

**_Zap._ **

**_“Suffer.”_ **

Zap. 

“Until the moment of your death.” 

Akira gasped, eternally grateful when the head over his shoulder disappeared and he heard the two instruments clatter to the floor. 

Really, Akira should have stayed silent. Endured what he could, accepted his death--to struggle meant more pain. The quieter he was, the sooner he would be allowed to die. Then again. Was there a possibility of escape? He opened one eye (with great effort), and scanned the room. Not much he could use as a weapon. Surely his gun was gone. The door would be locked. Not much he could do about that in the split second he’d have before the man grabbed him. The window…? They were on the fifth story. Not a chance. 

Still, his whole body burned and shook with pain and rage, and it was on pure impulse that he opened his mouth. Instead of the _‘fuck you’_ he’d wanted to throw, he was caught off guard by the sight of the man casually picking up a long metal chain and studying it. “F--Why--Why don’t you just _kill_ me already?” was what he sputtered instead. 

The Deadliest Man flashed Akira yet another grin. “Haven’t I already explained it? This is what I do.” In quick, sure steps, the man circled once again to behind him, and wrapped the chain around his neck. He didn’t pull. Momentarily, the back of the chain brushed the skin behind his neck and ears. Sheer coincidence, but there he was--god--it was so goddamn stupid, Akira could handle electrocution, but not contact to _ticklish skin?_ “This is my calling. This gets me high. Oh,” He tightened the chain, pulling just enough to scrape against the skin of Akira’s neck, shutting him up. “Something wrong?” Tighter. Tighter. 

Akira could only breathe in strangled, sputtering gasps. It made him sound utterly pathetic, but the alternative was to _die,_ so--

Finally the man gave a final pull and _stayed there,_ Akira trying to gasp but he couldn’t--he _couldn’t--_ his eyes wide, so much it hurt, legs kicking out desperately, struggling-- _struggling--_

“Time to die,” came the low, terrible voice. 

_I don’t want to die this way--this is how it ends?--is this the end of the story?-- **I don’t want to die this way--!**_

All at once, the chain disappeared from around his neck. Akira fell back in the chair, gasping, taking in every bit of air he could, half expecting his airway to be cut off again. Please. “ _Please.”_ He heard himself speak the word, yet it didn’t sound like him, rasping at the back of his throat, breathy and desperate. 

Instead of the return of the pain, Akira felt someone messing with the ropes around his hands, and moments later felt them fall away. 

“Come on,” Makoto shouted, “Hurry!” 

Akira scrambled to his feet, the world still a little fuzzy, blinking the dark spots out of his vision. “H...uh…? You… betrayed me…” 

Makoto grit her teeth and turned away. “ _They_ just betrayed _me._ I wanted to help my family--please, let me help you!” 

“I-I don’t--” Akira still had to gasp for air. “I don’t need your help! Anyone’s help… I don’t--” 

“ _God,_ ” Makoto groaned, exasperated, “what’s your _damage?_ We need to leave, _now._ Let’s _go.”_

She extended a hand, and after the briefest hesitation, Akira took it. 

Her _left_ hand. His right. 

He froze. Paralyzed in place. It was the first time he noticed--she’d put on gloves. For what reason, Akira couldn’t discern, but for a moment--his hand against gloved fingers--

Makoto pulled him out the door, down the hall, and into the small elevator. Akira might have objected, saying it was safer to take the faster stairs, if he was able to speak and if the world wasn’t becoming terribly blurry. Makoto gave him a look--or so he thought. He couldn’t see her face too well. 

“Are you crying?” She dropped his hand.

“Huh?” Akira raised his recovered hand to his face, and it came away wet. “Oh…” Yeah. Apparently, he was. Irritated, he wiped at his eyes, relieved to see his vision clear. 

He figured, out of all the reasons to cry, being reminded of your dead ex-lover seconds after almost being killed yourself was… acceptable. Makoto didn’t seem to think so, because she just shook her head and asked, “Do you know anywhere safe to go?” 

“Yeah,” Akira managed, voice still a little soft. He really didn’t want to _cry_ cry in front of Makoto, but the way his voice wavered suggested danger. “I got a bunker a while back. For me and, uh,” Shit. That was a dead end. His _name_ was definitely off limits. “Just in case.”

Makoto nodded. “Great.” 

~~~

Akira laid on the ground (no particular reason why, he just wound up there), while Makoto took her place on the couch, sitting stiffly. After a beat or two of silence, she spoke.

“Do you have family that ever stays here?” 

Akira pushed himself up, leaning against the couch, and shook his head. “Nah. I mean, my family… they _could_ stay here, I guess, but I see them so little I’ve never bothered to invite them, y’know?”

“You said this place was for you and someone else. If not for family, who else?” 

Akira’s breath caught in his throat. He hoped Makoto didn’t notice. “Someone else. They’re… not in the picture anymore.” 

A moment of silence. Akira imagined Makoto was nodding. “Did you and your family have, um…” She paused, as though searching for the word. “A falling out?” 

“What’s with the questions?” 

“Making conversation.” Pause. “You weren’t going to.” 

Akira sighed. “Uh. A falling out. Not exactly. More like, I wasn’t what they expected as their kid. We grew apart. They don’t really, uh. Yeah.” 

No response. 

“Uh,” Akira hazarded, “what about your family? Where do you think they are?” 

He turned to look at her. Makoto shot him a look. “I know exactly where they are.”

“I meant. I meant, what happened to them?” 

“Nothing.” Makoto shook her head. “It’s--it’s a strange situation.” 

“You can tell me. We’re stuck here for a while.” 

Makoto sighed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I haven’t seen them since I was a child. I was taken as a prisoner of war, and made to be an assassin. I ran away when I was thirteen, but if they found me my family would be in danger. I have to get them out of the country--and--” 

“And you were promised a way to do that.” 

She nodded. “Before they betrayed me.” She looked away for a moment, then leaned over to Akira and knocked him on the shoulder. “There. I told you my story, now you have to tell me yours.”

“Huh?” 

“It’s only fair. Come on.” She gestured to the couch, and Akira complied reluctantly, pulling himself up with exaggerated effort. “Spill.” 

Akira frowned. “It’s not a big deal. Not compared to, uh,” He made a vague gesture. “Your… story.”

“That’s not how this works.” She put on an exaggerated American accent when she said, “‘We’re stuck here for a while’. We have the time.”

Akira bit his lip. He hadn’t expected his argument to be used against him. It was fair enough. “Alright, fine. It was about four years ago. My, um…” His _what?_ How much could he say to Makoto? “M...My… My partner. On a mission. I was clumsy. He, uh. He died. He fell, there wasn’t enough time to save him. He--He told me to run.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It was four years ago. It’s fine.”

“You could barely get the words out.”

And, well, fair enough. Still, he was a little embarrassed that he struggled to tell that story while Makoto recounted her almost comically miserable past with a completely straight face. It went to show how badly he’d failed to recover. “Well, you got me there.”

Makoto touched his arm lightly, in a reassuring gesture. Akira looked at her, and she was smiling. 

Oh. _Oh._

She was touching his hand.

Did she think… 

Well. Akira looked at her momentarily. He’d just go with it. 

“You know,” He started, tilting his head back just far enough to look deliberate and looking into Makoto’s eyes. “I didn’t want you to know this, but I liked you from the moment I saw you.” The words felt foreign in his mouth, but—maybe, even if it was a little forced, a new spy romance would be. Uh. 

“I…” Makoto coughed, awkward. “Felt the same… way.”

_Kiss her._

Of course. This was a standard, typical progression. Both spies. Been in mortal danger together. A girl and a guy. The natural progression would be romance, would be to confide and then to flirt briefly and then to kiss. Right?

Right. 

Akira kissed her. Makoto complied, but broke away a moment later. 

“What was _that?”_

“A—A kiss?”

“I know—I know _that._ That was—the _worst_ kiss I’ve ever—are you—?”

“Sorry.” Akira sighed. “I thought that you. I mean.”

“The mood suggested…”

“Yeah. Sorry.” 

“So, you’re…” 

Akira took a breath. _You’re…_ Akira was a lot of things. Embarrassed, for one. He would have known for sure what Makoto was asking him, but when he turned to look at her, he didn’t see the disgust in her eyes. Only curiosity. Still. Leap of faith. “I’m—Yeah. Yeah.”

Makoto nodded. “Right. That makes sense. I’m sorry. I misread you.”

“I misread you as well.”

“So we’re just friends?”

Akira turned to her sharply. _Friends?_ She wanted to be friends with him, even when she—? “Yeah. Friends.” He paused, smiled at the ground. “Thank you.”

~~~

The true situation was not quite as sinister as Akira had expected. Or feared. 

There were no homicidal, genocidal plots. The Deadliest Man was simply a figurehead used for intimidation. The true plot was to eliminate the need for spies through widespread surveillance. 

Of course, Akira would need to shut it down. That kind of surveillance was a slippery slope to much more sinister occurrences. Government watching from every wall. Lie detectors that actually worked. 

_That_ prospect had certainly occurred to Akira, and frightened him beyond belief. He remembered hearing hero stories of how those lie detectors had revealed depravity, cleansed people—he’d worried about it for months after, before Futaba slipped into a conversation that she had never encountered one that really worked consistently. 

He was just on the team of Makoto, and Ryuji had been given the job of stakeout. He had to pretend to be a part of the enemy’s team and then signal Akira and Makoto the right time to jump in and blow the head off the whole scheme. 

But when the signal came, and they all ran in, it was only the Deadliest Man and Ryuji apologizing profusely. 

Akira raised his left hand to tell Ryuji to be quiet, and raised his right hand, holding his gun, at the Deadliest Man. 

The man just laughed. 

Behind him, Akira could feel that Makoto has drawn her weapon as well. 

The man smirked. “You’re going to kill me? Good luck, love. I’ve cheated death before.”

Akira gripped the gun. “You’ve _what?_ ”

The man tilted his head to the side condescendingly. “Cheated death. Oh, come now, Akira,” he chided, “don’t tell me you don’t remember. That’d just… break my heart.” He paused, laughed a little. “No no no, I suppose it wouldn’t. Regardless, even if you kill me now, you can’t stop the plan. We already have a computer the size of an island. Let me tell you something.” He leaned over, resting both forearms on the back of a chair. “ _Kurusu._ You’ve already lost.”

Akira swallowed. Steadied his aim. “You—“ 

“You know. Kurusu,” He smiled again. “I wonder if you can properly protect this team. I hear that partner of yours didn’t fare too well. Right?”

Akira’s arm was shaking. “How do you…”

“Personal history does have its benefits, Kurusu.”

The Deadliest Man brought two fingers to his neck, picking at the skin there. To Akira’s horror, it began to give way. 

Makoto’s voice from behind him. “Amamiya! Careful!”

_Amamiya._

Akira swallowed and nodded. 

The Deadliest Man tilted his head back as he pulled the skin back from his neck and face, further and further, until—

It was fake. 

_His face was fake._

Akira stared at the man in front of him, who now held the fake face in both hands, looking at it almost fondly. His hair had been tied up in the mask, but now fell to frame his face in messy, light brown locks. The deep red eyes turned on Akira as he pulled irritated at the tangled hair. 

“God, it took me so long to rehearse this role to perfection, and it rewards me with absolutely _abhorrent_ hair? That hardly seems fair.”

Akira’s mouth hung open. 

Four years had apparently not affected his ability to recognize… 

_Goro. Akechi Goro. Goro Akechi._

“Goro…” 

“Yes, dear. Goro Akechi.” He gave him a look. “Close your mouth. You look ridiculous.” 

Akira closed his mouth. “How--How are--” 

Goro just smiled at him, eyes wide and glimmering. It made Akira want to step away. “How am I alive? Good question, after you left me for dead.” The eyes returned to Akira’s, dark and dangerous. _This Goro was not a friend._ “We used to compete, you know? To see who could get out the fastest? To see who was the better spy.” He shook his head. Melodramatic. “I guess now we know it was me.” 

Akira stared. 

“Come on now, love, it’s not a fight if you don’t respond.” 

“Don’t-- _fucking--_ call me that.” 

Another condescending shake of the head. “Akira, dear, don’t focus so much on me. There’s an island facility just _waiting_ for you to blow it up, you know?” He laughed airly. “Now I’m going to leave, I have business to attend to. I’m a very busy man, you know? ...Now, are you going to go after the computer? Or are you going to go after me?” He twisted his lip. “I think I already know what you’ll choose.” 

He disappeared out from a backdoor that was so _infuriatingly_ disguised as a wall Akira hadn’t noticed it before. He turned to Makoto and Ryuji with embarrassingly pleading eyes. Makoto nodded. “We will go after the island.” When Akira just stared at her, she added, “Go. Now.”

Akira did.

He ran out the secret door, into the open air. Caught sight of Goro. Ran. 

Akira Kurusu chased Goro Akechi on foot, by car, by boat. He couldn’t discern how far they’d when Goro turned to him and spat, “I’ve been one step ahead of you all these years. You thought I was dead? I’d never die. _I’d never lose._ I’ve WON, Kurusu…”

“What--What _happened_ to you, Goro… where’s the guy I know…?” 

“It’s a little late for that.” Goro’s face was almost unrecognizable, twisted with anger and a twisted search for revenge. “I’ve won. I’ve _won_ \--”

“Stop. Stop running--please.”

Mercifully, Goro did stop. Akira bent over, gasping for air. “You can’t stop us. You know that, right?” Akira managed to look up, and he saw Goro’s same dark eyes. No mercy in them. No memory of what had once been. “Even if you kill me… it’ll go on.” 

“Goro. Please. What happened to you?” 

Goro sighed with exaggerated irritation. “You saw it. You left me to die. _They_ were the ones who saved me. Chimera, that’s the name of the organization. While I was working with them, I saw it--the truth. That you’d betrayed me. You know,” He shook his head again, a slightly amused tone tinting his voice, “I probably spent as much time hating you as you did. But, _unlike_ you, I found a new cause. Something to fight for. Something _righteous._ Don’t you see? Now, I’m the just one. On the right side of history. While you play around with your spy friends, I’m working to crash the entire institution to the ground. Won’t it be wonderful? _No more secrets._ Everything will be out in the open--no more secret government activity. No more secrets, Kurusu. Only the truth.”

Akira breathed heavily, but when he looked up, he saw the barrel of Goro’s gun pointed at his head. He reacted in a panic, lifting his own weapon. “Some… Some secrets…” He swallowed hard, as though that’d make it easier to say this… “Is that what you want? Aren’t there some secrets that aren’t for you to share?”

Akira watched as Goro grit his teeth and tightened his grip on the gun. “Secrets. Government secrets. No, secrets at all. It’s--It’s cruel. I’m bringing--justice.” 

“What about… our… What about this secret?” Goro’s eyes were wide, almost horrified. Akira continued, trying to keep the rising sob out of his voice. “Us--This. The time we spent together. The--The feelings we--” 

Goro’s hand had drifted down slightly, so the gun pointed at Akira’s heart. He readjusted it, reaiming it at his head and shouting, almost screaming, “ _Shut **UP!!** ”, _his voice scraping the back of his throat, desperation seeping into his voice.

Akira shut up.

“That secret died the moment you left me for dead.” Goro’s voice still shook just a little, though it visibly angered him. “Akira, it’s been four years. There’s this thing called moving on. Give it a try sometime.” 

Akira stepped forward, pressing the barrel of his gun between Goro’s eyes, ignoring the tears on his own face, ignoring Goro’s fury, ignoring _everything,_ ignoring--

“What are you doing?” 

Akira’s voice choked when he managed, “Taking your advice,” before he fired. 

Ren Amamiya died for the second time. 

And Akira Kurusu killed Goro Akechi for the second, and final, time.

**Author's Note:**

> watch spies are forever


End file.
